Strangers In The Night
by misspandalily
Summary: "Oh, God. You have wings." Museum Curator Artemis Crock can handle adversity pretty well, but even she has her limitations. Namely, the superheroes drinking juice on her favourite couch. And, growing a pair of wings overnight. She's in for a tough ride. Spitfire, slight AU.
1. Chapter 1

**_Strangers in the Night_**

 ** _Beta: knottedblonde (thank you!)_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice._**

* * *

When Artemis Crock wakes up, it's to the smell of herbs and spices wafting in from the kitchen. Her back still aches from the long shift at work, and her vision is immediately impounded by the sight of papers scattered all over her shabby bed.

A sudden crashing of pots against pans makes her remember one thing: Artemis Crock lives alone.

She leaps out of her squeaky bed at the speed of light, cursing loudly when a spring pops out of the mattress.

"Still swearing like a sailor, princess?" She swivels around to face the speaker - an immaculately dressed woman in her mid-twenties. Artemis smiles.

"Still breaking into my house, Zatanna?"

Zatanna laughs flippantly, flinging her black hair over her shoulder. "Family trade," she says vaguely.

"Right." Artemis pulls a black jumper over her singlet. "Did you cook something?" A bowl of spaghetti suddenly appears before her, the earlier aroma flooding into her nose. "I love you."

"Well, gotta get you fed for the big day, since you can't even do that yourself." Artemis snorts before taking the bowl into her small studio's living room, which is, frankly, just a few steps away. She's surprised to see how clean it is for once and thanks Zatanna for her mildly-concerning habit of sneaking into Artemis's pigsty of a home and cleaning it up. Not that she's complaining.

The papers and sheets that normally sit in piles about the room are gone, and she's suddenly, acutely, aware of a blue-eyed stranger lounging on her couch.

"Uh." There's a strand of spaghetti hanging limply from her mouth and red sauce smudged on and around her lips. She hastily wipes it off with her sleeve. "Hello?"

"Morning."

Artemis's brows furrow together when Zatanna stands beside the stranger with an elated beam. They hold hands and smile. "Excuse me," she starts, but is interrupted by her friend's giggling.

"This is Dick, my fiancé." Artemis's jaw almost hammers into the ground. Dick swiftly extracts an elegant black envelope from the inside of his trench coat and, grinning, holds it out to her with a smile. Artemis continues to gape like a fish before Zatanna unceremoniously shoves it into her hand.

She pouts. "I'm getting hitched and all you do is stare?"

Artemis snaps back to reality when a cuckoo bird suddenly flies out of her wall-clock. Zatanna and Dick share a laugh. "Pardon me," she says drily, "but I think my reaction is warranted." The couple look at each other oddly. "When did you even have a boyfriend?"

Zatanna, completely unfazed by her outrage, shrugs nonchalantly. "I didn't. We've just known each other for...an age." Dick nods along with her.

"Don't worry, Arty, " Artemis twitches at the familiarity of the nickname, "If it helps, our dads had the same reaction, if not worse."

Something suddenly clicks, and fills her with a mixture of extreme annoyance and relief. "You Dick." She hasn't seen him since she graduated several years ago, and even before then they'd only been acquaintances. It's a tiny bit disconcerting, the fact that he's not the same fifteen-year-old boy anymore.

"Nice of you to finally come around," Dick pats her back. "It's been a while, but we wanted to tell you in person."

Artemis gingerly opens the envelope, smiling slightly when a dramatic red and white invitation pops out. Zatanna starts bouncing on the balls of her feet anxiously.

"So?"

She's not the type to hug, but settles for one anyway.

After they leave, with their arms wrapped around each other's waists, Artemis lets out a deep breath and sets to work admiring Zatanna's handiwork. Her files are neatly colour-coded into different categories, and her small corner-desk is finally cleared up. She gives it a week before it's returned to its cluttered state and another few days before she uses her bed as a working space again.

It's not that Artemis is a messy person by nature. On normal occasions, she prefers military-level organisation and spotless rooms all around her. But her boss is piling on more and more paperwork by the second, and Artemis is steadily growing more accustomed to frazzled living spaces. It worries her, but she tries to compensates for the mess with freshly-ironed dress suits and sleek, professional hairstyles.

She likes to feel in control of her surroundings, and until the new exhibition at the museum is over, everything outside of her apartment needs to be immaculate.

Exactly fifteen minutes after Artemis Crock steps out of her cedar wood doorway, the Central City Museum comes into view; she drinks in the sight with a sense of pride. Years of relentless academia coupled with working her way up the ranks of museum staff climaxes at this pivotal exhibition, and nothing can stop her from finally earning the curatorial position she wants.

She grabs her leather briefcase from her car and walks in through the staff entrance with her head held high. A few members greet her on the way to the curator's office as she touches up on some final details before reaching her destination.

When Artemis opens the door of her boss's office, she sees a woman reclining elegantly on her chair, fountain pen in hand as she scribbles down notes in perfect calligraphy. Regina is the epitome of aged perfection, and executes every task flawlessly. Artemis smiles briefly before entering.

"Good morning."

She looks up from her documents, allows Artemis an uncharacteristic smile in return, then removes her glasses and welcomes her into a comfortable chair.

"Good morning, is everything ready?"

She nods. "The preparations are all finished for the press tour, and I'm placing some of the new recruits in charge of school tours, as I intended earlier on."

Regina gives her a stern glance, but says nothing. Artemis takes it as an opening for more elaboration.

"Over half of our current staff will be retiring when the year ends, and sooner; so I've been thinking of training my own team in preparation for the museum's future. And," she continues when Regina's expression starts to soften, "I believe it is in all of our best interests to establish a new team that works alongside the more experienced staff members we have now. No one needs to step down from their position until they are ready, and when they are, there will be new members with expertise that can be passed down to the next generations."

A nod of approval. "Well said, Artemis." She rises from her office desk – elegantly, Artemis has no idea how she moves like that - and passes her a plastic name tag with her name, picture and the word 'Curator' written over the top in bold letters.

"When the exhibition starts, Artemis, I want you to wear this. In fact, do not take it off until you're old and ready to retire. Consider it my legacy."

Artemis almost sheds a tear in thanks, but stops when a staff member knocks on the office door.

"Mrs Williams, the press has arrived. They might end up destroying the front door any time now." Regina dismisses him with a nod and turns to Artemis with a confident smile.

"Good luck, darling."

* * *

The anticipation makes Wally want to explode, so Aunt Iris sends him off to grab coffee for her and her team with a few notes in his hand. He thinks it's stupid, and boring, waiting for a museum to open its doors when exhibitions on Ancient Greece pop up all the time, everywhere. Seriously, who even cares?

The press, because apparently Uncle Barry doesn't give them enough on a daily basis. And Batman, because of some spooky ancient relic that has magical properties. Wally scoffs before voicing out an order for six coffees, on the go.

Magic isn't real.

He remembers Zatanna smacking the underside of his head and Kal rolling his eyes in exasperation. Just take the mission, Wally, we need you.

Order 160 pops up on the screen, so Wally presents his receipt to the girl and walks out with a tray in his hands. He's tempted to zip over to the museum, but realises that he doesn't really want to be there either. His steps lose their usual briskness and he slows down to the pace of the jogger beside him.

Wally arrives after a good ten minutes of walking. The team complain under their breaths about the cold coffee; Wally really cannot care any less. He's in the midst of making adjustments to the microphones, and ignoring their reproachful glares, when he hears Aunt Iris call him over.

"Yeah?" He stalks over to his aunt without bothering to look up from his shoes. They really need replacing.

"I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. Artemis, this is my nephew Wally. He's in town for a few weeks to help me out with the job." Wally's eyes widen at the name. That name. He looks up and gapes at the woman standing in front of him, hair pulled into a professional bun with a sleek black suit hugging her body.

He only knows one person named Artemis, and she hasn't changed a bit.

"H-hey," he stammers out a greeting, "How've you been?"

She looks at him curiously, something that Iris shares as well. "Fine, thank you. Have we met before?"

He winces at the politeness of her tone, the unfamiliarity of her words. She really hasn't changed a bit.

"Yeah, Gotham City Academy? Class of 2011? We were classmates." He sees his aunt's expression light up and notices the lack of recognition in Artemis's eyes with a pang in his chest.

She nods and smiles politely; he knows it's for the sake of being nice. "That was a marvellous year. Or, it would have been, if Dick hadn't trashed the valedictory dinner. Or every other lunchbreak before that," Artemis adds, as an afterthought. He nods in affirmation – he'd been Dick's right-hand man for most of those attacks, but of course she only remembers Dick. Everyone does.

"Well, isn't this fantastic?" Iris re-joins the conversation enthusiastically, "How about you come over for dinner sometime? To catch up with an old friend. It's been a while since you've visited, too." He wants to run away and hide in a hole for the rest of his life when Artemis hesitantly agrees to her offer - Sunday night, because she's going to be swamped with work for a while. He leaves them a few seconds later, because it's interview time and they're both entering what Aunt Iris likes to call Professional Mode.

Thankfully, Wally's ear piece starts buzzing, so he presses down on it to answer. It's Dick.

"Bats wants an update on your progress." His voice resonates clearly through the piece.

"Doors still closed. The curator's just talking to the press right now." He looks back at his aunt, "namely Iris."

"The curator, Artemis Crock?" Dick's cackle makes him grind his teeth together in frustration.

"Yes, her. Why do I feel like you knew this?"

"I know everything."

Wally doesn't have a comeback for that, because for the most part, Dick _does_ know everything. "Dude, you totally set this up. My life is over."

He hasn't been pining over Artemis since their graduation ceremony ten years ago – Dick knows this, god damn it – and seeing her is bringing up the same wave of unwanted memories that he's been working hard to suppress for years. Sure, there was his crush on M'gann during their younger years, before joining the League, and a fleeting relationship with Linda, but Artemis is… Artemis. The striking blonde prodigy with steel eyes and a spitfire's heart.

"Did you at least talk to her?"

"She doesn't even remember me," Wally replies miserably. Dick doesn't even bother acting sympathetic.

"I doubt she even knew you existed until today," the comm starts to crackle a bit, signalling the end of their conversation. "Update us as soon as something happens. Cheers."

The line dies moments later, leaving him to stand by in contemplation.

Honestly, Wally isn't sure why everything's suddenly bubbling up inside of him, when he's spent the last decade or so pushing his idyllic high school days to the back of his mind, then chomping his way through gruelling piles of quantum physics textbooks and particle theory papers, on top of his _extracurricular_ League activities. He likes to think that it's all because of the unreciprocated feelings, and the sensitive teenager inside of him who's still mulling over the could-have-beens and what-ifs of his (lack of) relationship with Artemis.

By the time Wally's finished, Aunt Iris is downing the rest of her coffee and washing down her breath with fresh mints, and GBS is making its way to the front of the queue without him. He sighs.

This is going to be a long mission.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Thanks for all the love, everyone! Favouriters, followers, reviewers, I cannot express how grateful I am for your feedback and support._**

 ** _Beta: knottedblonde_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing_**

* * *

Artemis takes in a deep breath the moment her hands land on the front door's handles. They're made of faux-gold, because even though crime rates aren't as phenomenally high as Gotham's, Central City still has its demons.

She's achingly aware of the cameras flashing behind her, of the expectations waiting on the other side of the door, of the future depending on her first exhibition, and even though she looks ready with her hair slicked back the way she likes it, and even though her suit is ironed out to perfection, she desperately wants to curl up into a ball from the pressure. But Artemis doesn't; she straightens out her shoulders and her posture and draws her confidence from the stronger part of her that's telling her to buck up and lose the lily-liver.

The doors open, causing the decorative banners hanging off the outer walls to flutter lightly. There's an area of the museum purely dedicated to exclusive exhibitions, and Artemis is half-pleased, half-critical of her work. Four columns vertically line the exhibition's entrance as a (admittedly) tacky tribute to Classical Greek culture, but it looks grand and majestic to her, so she has no other complaints. She knows what's inside: treasures from the Greek empire, imported in from several museums and architectural sites around the globe. It's standard, almost mundane, the way everyday items are displayed in glass cabinets with plaques labelling them. Every respectable museum has at least one area dedicated to the ancient world, so this is no special feat.

Not for Artemis.

The prize winner is a long-lost – and found – artefact inside the separate room, hidden inside a huge display case cleverly disguised as a decorative column. She's proud to say that Central City Museum's staff discovered it first, so they had first dibs to display it - and she's showing it to the press after the allotted tours are over.

Her heels click loudly against the granite floors as she strides in confidently. Artemis makes sure that she's standing in front of the taught, red ribbon tied between the two columns lining the entrance before the reporters and sleepy-eyed public swarms in after her for pictures.

Iris is the one standing closest to Artemis, though, despite the fact that the other journalists are given a standing area in front of the other citizens. She's the one who helped her settle down in Central City and took her under her wing when she was jobless and hungry and overly-stressed from university. Artemis likes to think that Iris is her surrogate mother, an admirable woman she regards as highly as her own mom back in Gotham City. She readjusts her mouth piece, accidentally making eye contact with Wally. He avoids her gaze pointedly.

Honestly, she feels slightly terrible for not remembering anything about Iris's nephew. One would think that, after six years of living with the reporter, that Artemis would at least have some basic knowledge about her family members outside of her and Barry (who's also almost always at home, for some reason). And then there's the fact that Wally seems to know her from her old high-school days at Gotham Academy. Admittedly, she saw more of the library and study areas during high school than she did anything else, discounting the Dick Grayson who made it his life's purpose to antagonise the "living shits" out of her. Artemis doesn't fit in with the wealthy elite – she prefers working hard for success rather than being overly reliant on loaded parents and class warfare. Then again, her parents weren't even loaded to start off with.

Clearing her throat, Artemis focuses her steely gaze onto the crowd in front of her.

"It takes the collaborative work of an entire group of people to create a culture so powerful and rich with traditions that their stories are interpreted and retold to this very day, even after its Roman annexation in 146 BC. I introduce you to yet another immortalisation of the Classical Greek culture," she adds sarcastically, letting the chuckles die down before continuing, "trust me; this one's special."

"Why?"

It's a simple question, one that she gives an approving smile to. Talking at crowds instead of to them is never a pretty sight.

"A good question," Artemis starts off pleasantly, "For the first time in decades, the Acropolis Museum is permitting the display of their ancient, and highly exclusive collections overseas – something we must thank the Flash himself for. His work in Greece has been a great service to the community, both here and across waters, and allowed the Central City Museum to have 'first dibs', as we call it, on displaying a long-lost artefact that our team of archaeologists discovered a few months beforehand. As a gesture of extreme gratitude to Central City's local hero, we welcome the very same Flash here to open our exhibition."

This time, she allows her face to break out of its neutral expression and into a grin. The fastest man alive speeds through huge double doors and zips up to stand next to her. He shoots a wink at Iris, which Artemis registers as weirdly curious. Thinking about it, it'd be weird if they weren't at least acquaintances, given the amount of coverage Iris does on the speedster.

"Thank you for coming here today, Flash, we honestly couldn't have done this without you."

He flashes her and the crowd a charming smile, well aware of the fact that he's being broadcasted on national television. "All in a day's work, Artemis. Maintaining cultural integrity is something both I and the Justice League strive towards, as Earth's guardians, and its citizens. Tracking down and abolishing the art heist was the least that I could do to help."

She's a little taken aback at his atypical seriousness, especially with the sheer amount of humorous footage she's seen from him in the media. Judging by the awe-inspired looks on the press' faces, they're thinking along the same lines as she is. Then, "You could say that I was… quick as a Flash."

Groan. There he is. Iris chuckles from behind her notepad while Wally rolls his eyes at the skies.

She fixes a charming smile on her lips to match the Flash's. Regina steps out of her office – finally, making all of the cameras go crazy again. In her forty years as the curator and Chief Historian, she's developed a large reputation among the media for her accomplishments and cultural services for Central City. Her boss waves a hand at the press, sending them into an immediate silence.

"The Central City Museum thanks you, Flash, from the bottom of our hearts, and we thank the press and attendees for finding the time to visit us." Artemis remains silent and smiling for the entire duration of Regina's speech, patiently waiting for the older woman to blink glistening tears out of her eyes as she moves onto her retirement speech. The Flash stands by their sides faithfully, albeit impatiently and buzzing with poorly-concealed boredom.

"After forty years of faithful service, I will still stay true to my passions as a historian and also as a preserver of ancient cultures. That is my duty, and what I still consider to be my life's calling, both as a curator and a member of our society. My legacy, and the legacies of my predecessors will passed onto my own successor; Artemis Crock. May she serve the Museum well."

There isn't a thunderous or deafening applause like there is in the movies, just a loud series of obligatory clapping sounds followed by the clicking of camera flashes. She doesn't mind, though. Her dream is finally beginning to take flight.

* * *

"Wally! Photograph while I film?"

Iris, microphone in one hand, waves Wally over to her excitedly. He briskly walks over to the other side of the room before taking the camera from Iris's film man.

Wally's supposed to be taking the actual pictures of the relic for the mission, because of his connection to Iris and the convenient proximity from his house. It's a fairly boring one, in his opinion, and he hates that Batman's still treating him like a kid even though he's been in the League for years now.

"Thanks, sweetheart, make sure you get what we need." She winks at him and walks into the room with the rediscovered relic behind Artemis. He watches the blonde woman smile courteously at his aunt, feeling his stomach lurch again when her piercing grey eyes make contact with his.

Someone bumps into his side, sending him a few steps to the right. Wally reorients himself and glares at the giggling culprit. He recognizes that giggling, and groans loudly. "Seriously? In front of her?"

Zatanna flips her faux-blonde hair over her shoulder and shimmers her bright green eyes at him. "Focus on the job, West." Chancing a quick look at the unassuming curator, who's already chatting and walking away with Iris, the magician leans closer to Wally. "Ever heard the word 'lovesick'? You haven't been this easy to tease since Linda!"

"Why are you even here?"

"Wally," Zatanna looks him dead in the eye, and proceeds slowly. "I was assigned to this mission too."

"You know what I mean."

"No," she bounds away into the separate room. "I don't. Come on, loser, you need to get those pictures for the Boss."

"Right." He ambles after her slowly, and makes it into the room seconds after Artemis begins her mini-tour with the GBS crew. They're led around the exhibition slowly, pausing only when Iris asks a question for her article or Zatanna queries a subtly-veiled Batman Question. Wally silently, diligently, takes pictures of the required artefacts before patiently waiting for them to move onto the prized one.

"Oooh," he hears Zatanna cooing when Artemis presses down on a remote, which causes a discoloration of the huge, decorative column Wally had assumed was just a plain old column. There's a clear, almost indistinguishable platform in the middle that makes it look like the relic is floating in mid-air. Wally snaps a picture before shifting his focus to the object sitting on top.

He wants to run a hand down his face and leave, maybe get reassigned to a different mission and let some other magical bozo do it. Of all the things to be on surveillance duty for, it was this.

A necklace. Granted, it's a pretty one for something rumoured to be over two thousand years old. There aren't any glittering jewels of sparkling diamonds studding the edges, but there's a convexly-shaped silver pendant with intricate winged outlines etched onto it, as well as incomprehensible words carved into the edges. Wally isn't Greek. He doesn't know what they mean, but he does appreciate the beauty of art and knows that anything that solidifies history shouldn't be taken lightly.

But, still – in his opinion, Batman's being a bit too insufferable about a small necklace, even if Wonder Woman is adamant in her claim that it's more sacred than the Great Pyramids of Giza. Wally shoots a sceptical look at Zatanna through the corners of his eyes, to which she claps him over the head in annoyance.

"The long-lost artefact," says Artemis, brimming with pride, "Thought to have belonged to the Goddess of Wisdom herself; Athena." Wally scoffs silently. "Note: the intricate markings on the side are highly indicative of the aesthetic ideals of…"

As much as he loves hearing Artemis' dulcet tones echo throughout the room, Wally can't seem to muster up enough enthusiasm to continue listening to her speech and settles on interchangeably staring at her face and then the artefact. It takes approximately five minutes for Zatanna to zap his side with an invisible bolt of electricity.

"Focus," she hisses, "she's getting to the good part."

"Both our sources and the local historians in the area claim that the ancient Gods imbued this specific trinket with a powerful force, believed to be able to transform any man or woman into a transcendent being."

"And what do you think?" His mouth yammers out a question before he can even think of stopping it; several pairs of eyes fall upon him, including Artemis' thoughtful grey ones.

"I think that all stories, no matter how ridiculous they seem, do bear some semblance of truth," she responds diplomatically, "Perhaps, once upon a time, before this necklace was lost, the person who wore it only thought of themselves as more physically potent, and conditioned the people around them to believe him. It could be a result of psychological manipulation, or maybe hallucinogenic drugs," She shrugs delicately. "On the other hand, the rumours could be absolutely true."

"Only one way to find out," he jokes back, eliciting a brief smile from the curator.

Wally feels his heart skip a beat.

When she turns her back on the group and continues the tour, he hears his comm crackle. Dick's voice filters through the ear piece, loud and clear.

"You're in so deep, the Mariana Trench doesn't even hold a candle to you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Strangers in the Night**

 **Beta: knottedblonde**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Night time.

The final group of patrons swarm out into the open air before the Museum's designated security guards shut the door behind them. Artemis walks through the inside briskly, making sure that everything's locked and secured so that the night cleaners have an easier job when they arrive. Technically, she really doesn't need to do this at all, but it's her first night and she can't help but revel in the day's afterglow.

Finally reaching the doorway leading to the necklace, she leans on the threshold, extracting the remote controlling the display case so that she can finally close it for the night.

"I wouldn't press that button if I were you."

Artemis freezes.

"Good girl," the voice is a deep timbre that sends shivers of fear down her spine. _Get a grip, bird brain, you're tougher than this_. She can't move. "Now, let's make this easy: you lower the remote, step aside and act like none of this ever happened. I walk away with the necklace and you walk away with that pretty face of yours still connected to your body. It'll be a win-win situation, blondie." He finishes off his sentences airily.

How did the man even get in, or sneak past the guards, for that matter? Artemis tentatively sneaks a glance at the perpetrator and widens her eyes in shock when she spots a familiar mane of white hair and pale, icy skin. Cam; but what's up with the gun?

She immediately steels herself, now that she's put a face to her attacker. It's been a while since she's had to brawl her way out of a situation, and sure, the gun in his hands complicates the situation a little more, but Artemis Crock doesn't back down from a fight. Not when her entire family is comprised of criminal masterminds.

Cam starts to tap his foot impatiently. "Alright, seems like you want to do this the hard way." He inches forward, gun still positioned at his front, until he's a good metre away from Artemis. "People don't mess with me, sweet cheeks, and I don't think it's wise for you to either."

She smirks. "Oh, goodie. So you've grown a pair of balls now?" Swivelling around, Artemis swiftly disarms him with a well-aimed crescent kick, sending the gun sliding to the other side of the room. Thanks to the heels, her landing isn't as smooth as Artemis would like, but the dawning look of fear on Cam's face is worth the flaw. Just like old times. "I guess not," her hoarse voice tries to taunt him when he connects his gaze with hers, "my dead grandma has a stronger grip than you."

She feels her stomach lurch dreadfully when his expression starts to morph into one of fury. "Artemis, why am I not surprised? You're still running away from home like a lost kitten." His skin crackles menacingly as his cheekbones become more angular and take on a bluer, (literally) icier tint. "Central City's a little tame for us, don't you think?"

Well, that's new.

"Then why are you here, of all places?" She presses down on the remote defiantly, watching the colour drain from Cam's face with pleasure. It's relatively short-lived, however, when he seizes her by the collar and hurls her through the glass before the metal casing of the column fully closes.

Artemis hisses when she feels tiny shards of glass dig into her skin like metal claws. The necklace is lying directly in front of her, having been knocked off its platform during the crash. She latches onto it for dear life, feeling its polished edges comfort her just as a sharp icicle begins to protrude from Cam's arm. If this necklace is as powerful as the ancient Greeks claim it is, then she could sure use that power right now.

Cackling malevolently, Icicle Junior strides towards her strewn body with a deranged smirk on his features. "Unlike you, I live for the thrill of the fight." He reaches towards her clenched fists, then retracts his icicle-hand and replaces it with a sharper blade. She realises his intention all too quickly, and tries to get up to her feet, but it's useless. She can barely move with the blood racing out of her lacerations, not to mention all the bruises forming at her sides. Cam laughs again. "Little Miss Crock," he says mockingly, "Looks like your sports-daddy isn't here to protect you anymore. Then again, it's not like he ever tried." He raises his arm-blade. "Babe, I know how much you love archery, but- well, you can kiss _that_ and your hand goodbye now."

Artemis grits her teeth, begging her legs to cease their catatonia. "Go to hell, jerkface." She looks straight into her childhood friend's _stupid, stupid_ eyes defiantly. If he's going to cut her hands off, so be it, but she swears to herself that she won't wink an eyelash when he does. It seems to make him angrier; Artemis really can't care less.

A streak of red and yellow suddenly appears and knocks Cam backwards. He and the streak fly into the huge classical column lining the entrance, leaving a noticeable dent in its side. She gawks, then notices the trickling sensation of a blood trail moving down the length of her right arm, and has to blink a few times to stay in focus. There's probably blood oozing down her face from where she felt a larger shard cut into her forehead, and her favourite suit is probably soaked through in her fluids at the moment. On the other hand, her hands are still intact, so that's one silver lining.

Artemis blinks. Where the hell is security?

The red and yellow bolt darts across the room, knocking down a few priceless cases in the process, but this barely registers in her mind, because hell – Cam is Icicle Junior? How has she never figured that out before? PhD, her ass.

Seeing their blurry outlines engaged in a brutal brawl, Artemis takes this opportunity to use her trembling arms to push herself away from the scene of violence, gritting her teeth harder when she feels more shards slice through her skin through her suit. "Fuck," she mutters to herself, then notices the distinct lack of head-to-toe red that is the Flash's super suit. The man knocks Icicle Junior out cold with a series of super-speed punches and kicks before zooming directly into her field of vision.

"Ma'am," he calls out to her urgently. What pretty green eyes. Artemis sees his mouth moving rapidly and barely notices him holding up two gloved fingers.

"I come in peace," she feebly lifts two fingers and starts to mumble incoherently. Her arms are beginning to feel like jelly, and she lets out a sigh now that the pain is fading. "Huzzah!"

"Ma'am, we need to get you to a hospital." His arms delicately haul her up into a bridal position; she feels his gloved hands adjust her head onto a smooth surface, before everything erupts in a sea of clear, blue light.

* * *

"Mrs Iris West-Allen?"

Iris jumps to her feet immediately, starting Wally out of his sleep and knocking a cup of black coffee onto his pants. He doesn't scream, because it's surprisingly cold for a cup that he swears he brewed a few minutes ago.

11.59 PM.

Scratch that; more like two hours ago.

"Yes?" His aunt's blood-shot, red-rimmed eyes are already encased by dark bags that are seconds away from drooping over her cheekbones. "That's me."

The nurse smiles sympathetically. "The patient is in a stable condition," both Wally and Iris release shaky sighs of relief, "Weak, but stable enough to be discharged tomorrow morning, at most in two days' time. I trust that, as her former guardian, you'll be able to make your own living arrangements for her? I'm afraid she needs a few weeks of rest before she can work again, and the doctors don't advise her to be living alone during those weeks."

The tired reporter nods complacently.

"I suggest that you catch up on some sleep too, Iris. You look like a dead panda." The nurse offsets this comment with a jocular smile and walks off.

"I'm going to pop into her ward for a second, then head home. Can you make sure that she's settled in for the night for me?" She runs a shaky hand through her auburn hair while absentmindedly staring at her nephew, who nods. "Thank you, Wally," she pats his cheek lovingly, "For everything."

He finds himself shutting the door to Artemis Crock's room a few minutes after Iris leaves the hospital with her husband. The smell of disinfectant and hospital-grade food immediately washes over his nostrils while the sight of Artemis' sleeping, bandaged form on the bed prompts him to edge towards her cautiously.

Wally remembers seeing her blood pouring out of the cuts marring her skin, and all over the granite floors. He remembers seeing Icicle Junior get locked down in cuffs by the museum's security guards – they should've been awake for this, dammit – and a blinding flash of blue light emanating from her hand as he ran like hell to Central City's hospital.

He walks over to where's she slumbering peacefully, a sleep induced by the anaesthetics injected into her body, before gently lifting her hand. Wally almost drops it in shock, because now there's an engraving making its way up her arm from the tips of her fingers, crawling beneath the surface in a way that's alive and _totally freaky_.

"Oh no," he frantically flails his arms around, unsure of how to deal with the situation. Calming down slightly, he presses down on the button of his earpiece, calling Dick and Zatanna's temporary headquarters – namely, Aunt Iris's guest room. "Nightwing, we have a problem."

"Whoa. KF, what's the sitch?" He hears a chair squeaking and swivelling around and the crinkling of candy wrappers on the other side. "Baby Ice is still behind bars – guy hasn't even moved a muscle."

"No," Wally brushes him off, painfully aware that the markings are starting to glow. "It's not him. It's Art-the curator. Whatever. You need to get down here."

With a puff of smoke, Zatanna appears in the room with Dick at her side. "What the hell?" She runs to Artemis's side and runs a dainty finger down the arm, mumbling a few strange words to herself while making Eye Contact with Dick. Wally focuses on the frown appearing on Artemis' face. "I've never seen something like this before. Do you think-"

She glances at Dick again, who whips out his scanning device. "Let's hope so, or else we'll have nothing to go on from."

"What are you two on about?" Wally interrupts.

"Magic," he hates it when Zatanna's being vague, "She might be turning into an angel." Dick's scanner moves down Artemis' arm as Wally temporarily stops moving.

"It's in Ancient Greek; I suspect," Dick pauses for impact and looks at him, "they're the same words that you showed me on the necklace's engraving."

"Hello, Zatanna," she hits herself on the side of her head, "It's obvious: if the necklace is rumoured to be a source of great power, then, judging by what we're seeing here and the things you've witnessed, Wally: she's going to be a- a something."

"Right," he feels his temper rising, "and I'm supposed to believe that? That's not even possible! Magic isn't even real!"

"Quit yelling," she rolls her eyes, blue eyes still fixated on her friend's arm, "You're pretty close-minded for a guy who can break the sound barrier in his sneakers." He sputters indignantly, turning to Dick and arguing his case to him instead. Zatanna silences them a few moments later.

"It's stopped moving." By now, all of the letters are spread out along the backs of her arms and resting underneath the layers of her bandages and hospital robes. Wally's agitation dies down when he sees Artemis' face relax again.

Zatanna takes several minutes to fluff up Artemis' pillows and refill her water jug before turning to face them. "Someone needs to watch over her, obviously. The necklace is gone, probably absorbed by her when you saw that blue light, if my assumptions are correct, and Boss would probably throw us into cages if we leave her be."

"Most likely," Dick adds.

"She can't stay at Uncle Barry's place - there's too much junk lying around there." They catch onto his meaning, then send him their iconic double-evil grins. Oh, he does not like the look of those.

"Why don't you stay with her at her place?" Zatanna suggests airily.

"Yeah, that's a great idea!" says Dick, "You catch keep an eye on her for the mission, _and_ take care of her for a few weeks while she's healing!"

"Why can't you do it, Zatanna?"

"Too busy," she says simply. Dick nods along with her, citing the same reasons. "I'm the manager, remember?"

He grumbles. "I doubt she'll be receptive to this. She used to kick ass on the volleyball team back in high school."

"That was ten years ago." Dick crosses his arms and leans against the wall. Wally's all too aware of how hung-up he is over his high-school crush, now that she's suddenly back in his life. It's not the first time he's realised how absolutely unhealthy it is to continue his obsession all over again. "Totally irrelevant. Be professional, _Wall_ -man, your stupidity's starting to hurt my brain." Smirking, his friend starts typing into his stupid arm-computer like the nerd he is, while Zatanna sends him an amused glance.

"Yeah, and you could always just get your Aunt to propose it," she shrugs. "You're pretty nervous about this for someone who's almost hitting his thirties."

He sputters again, but doesn't reply. Dick finishes doing his stupid nerd thing. "Batman approved it."

"Great," Wally replies, somewhat sarcastically. Okay, a lot sarcastically.

But in all seriousness, how's he supposed to feel? Elated? He isn't so desperate that he'd leap at the opportunity to spend time with the maybe-girl-of-his-dreams in her own apartment, for a few weeks (or possibly more).

Who would feel happy about that anyway?

* * *

 **Guest, ethereal skies, KitsuneGirl1994 and icanhearyouglaring, thanks so much for your feedback. Truly, it has all been fantastic. Also, to the followers and favouriters, you are all amazing people!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Strangers in the Night**_

 _ **A little earlier than usual this week, because I won't be able to update my usual time. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Beta: knottedblonde**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**_

* * *

Artemis wakes up feeling like a million daggers are piercing into her upper back. She curls up into a ball, twitching from the pain that shoots up her spine and down her arms. Her head is sore, and she hears a strange series of whispers echoing in the recesses of her mind. Artemis screams. The back of her throat strains against her vocal chords.

A warm pair of hands are suddenly running down her arms, she hears a gentle cooing from somewhere, and the pain and voices start to ebb away. She sighs in relief before unravelling herself.

"You sure have it rough." It's Iris' voice. Artemis cracks an eyelid open and peers up at a red-headed woman hovering above her. Iris wipes her sweat away with a wet cloth, and smiles gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Been better," she grumbles out a response. It's only then that she notices the sterile white walls around them, and the weird material of a hospital gown covering her body. She leaps up. "What the hell?"

"Shh," Iris presses her back down to the bed, gently, "Calm down." Artemis gnashes her teeth together, then winces from the pain that immediately attacks her forehead. Iris looks on in pity. "Do you remember what happened?"

"N-" she starts to say, but realises that she does. _Cam. Icicle Junior. The scumbag_. "Yeah," she mumbles back. _The artefact._ Artemis gasps; her _job._ "I need to get out of here. Regina's going to _slaughter_ me for this." Iris presses her down again, this time a little more firmly, until Artemis stops struggling.

"I've already talked to her about it, sweetheart," Iris gives her another reassuring smile, "She's agreed to fill in for you for now. And," she adds, reluctantly, "Icicle Junior's robbery _was_ all over the news last night, and this morning. That helped."

"So," she draws out the 'o', realising that she did crash through the glass last night, and there was a huge fight inside the Exhibition. The same exhibition she's been working on for _months_ now and oh god, where's that necklace? Artemis starts to panic, because she clearly remembers making a grab for the necklace while Cam was fighting with the Flash, or whoever that was.

It doesn't matter to her as much as it should, that she owes him her life and a huge thank you, because then she sees a massive line of black characters running along her arms and up to the tips of her fingers. Her right hand has a nasty, menacing little symbol on it that looks a little familiar to her; she can't seem to place it. Her mouth starts to open and close like a fish out of water, gasping for air fruitlessly. "Wh-What the _fuck_ is this?"

Iris looks confused, "What happened?" When Artemis pulls her sleeves up and throws her arms out, Iris takes them gently. "Your arms look fine, Artemis, don't worry about the cuts. All wounds will heal."

She starts to panic again. "I don't care about the damn cuts! Look at the markings!" Artemis can tell that her eyes are starting to take on a crazed edge, because Iris widens her eyes for a bit before trying to settle her down again. It hits her like a tonne of bricks. "You can't see it. Why?"

If her words shock the red headed woman, it doesn't show, because Iris clasps Artemis' hands in hers and gives her yet another kind smile before settling her down into the mattress again. "What's happening?"

"You're just tired, honey. I'm sure it's the shock from yesterday's events."

After the woman refills her water jug and mutters something that Artemis just nods to, she leaves. Artemis grits her teeth through a round of bed-ridden examinations from the nurses and doesn't tear her eyes away from the markings that seem to travel all the way up to her shoulders. They turn on the overhead TV for her, not that she watches anything on it except the news.

Even then, Artemis promptly decides to tune out when they repeat the same story over and over again: Icicle Jr attacked the museum last night, left a mess of glass shards and the Curator's blood in his wake, and gets arrested for his crimes. Seeing her childhood friend as a notorious villain is starting to sink in. Honestly, Artemis isn't _that_ surprised, she's more upset that it took her seeing him transform in real life to connect the dots. They used to have play dates together with Jade when their parents went on 'business trips' together, and he'd even alluded his secret identity to her a few times over the years as well, if the 'ice-cold' puns weren't obvious enough.

Maybe she's not as sharp and quick-witted as she likes to think she is.

The only new stories that pop up are interviews with Iris just outside the hospital, where she reassures the press that 'Yes, Artemis Crock is fine, she just needs rest', and a few brief chats with Kid Flash about the incident. As it turns out, he's her life saver.

She really isn't sure how she feels about that, mainly because the vivid green eyes that peek out from behind his yellow mask are strangely familiar (why is everything so familiar, and why can't she place her finger on anything these days) and disconcerting at the same time.

At exactly 3:41PM, there's a knock at the door. It opens up when the person behind it realises the pointlessness of knocking on a hospital door, and reveals Wally. Wally, clad in a bright red hoodie and scruffy denim jeans, stands less than five metres in front of her with a strange look on his face.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi," she says back, bluntly. She really isn't sure why he's here, other than to check up on her for Iris, probably. "How are you?"

He scoffs. "Don't ask me that. You're the one in the bed."

"Right," she blinks slowly. He walks towards her with a bag in his hand. "Don't you have work?"

"Yeah," he shrugs nonchalantly, "Flexible working hours. And, Iris gave me some time off to check up on you." Right guess, then.

"You really didn't have to," she replies. The last thing Artemis wants to do is burden Iris and her family again. She hates feeling indebted to people, especially those who genuinely care about her.

Then, Wally pulls out a tub of pasta and a bouquet of roses out of thin air before wordlessly placing his items on the bedside table.

Red roses. Artemis' face slackens as she makes a strangled sound. Wally looks up at her, green eyes quizzical.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, and I really appreciate everything you're doing," not that she's sure _why_ he's doing it, "But isn't this a bit too much? I'm still forbidden to eat anything other than soup and fruit slices. And, uh-"

He stares blankly at the items when her hands gesture towards the roses. "Wha-oh." Something clicks in his mind that makes him blush like crazy. "These-these aren't for you."

She nods compliantly when he starts to ramble on at the speed of light.

"I mean, they are. Sorry. These aren't mine. They're from Zatanna. She made the pasta too. Mentioned something about staging a rebellion against hospital food." He mumbles something else under his breath that she doesn't quite catch.

Wait. "You know Zatanna?"

He nods, pulling out a chair to sit in when she sits up straight in her bed. "We're friends."

"Oh. From?"

"School," he winces. "She _is_ Dick's fiancé, so naturally..." Wally trails off. She lets out an understanding hum. Way to connect the dots again, Artemis, you fool.

"So," she coughs, feeling mucus travel up her throat from the action, "Are you going to their wedding, too?"

"Yeah, I mean, I did get an invitation, so- I guess it'd be rude not to go. Right?" His mouth starts yammering off again; Artemis gets the distinct impression that she's not the only one who has no idea how to talk to him. "Yeah. Yeah, I am." His ears turn a bright, bright red as he meets her amused gaze shyly.

"Guess I'll see you there, then."

He chuckles, then looks down at her resting arms. Artemis' first reaction is to pull them away to hide the markings, then realises that he probably can't see them anyway, so relaxes into her pillow instead. She doesn't miss the curious glint of recognition in his eyes, but doesn't have time to ask him if he can see them because, of course, given her track record of bad luck as of late, the markings start scratching their way up her arms like tiny spiders.

Artemis clamps her mouth shut to avoid freaking out in the same way she did around Iris. She hears Wally swear and ignores it; he probably can't see the things anyway. "Why are they moving again?"

Not hearing the string of curses that follow, Artemis bolts out of her blankets and looks at him desperately, imploringly. "You can see them? These...things?" They're halfway up to her elbows when Wally completely ignores her question and lifts up the sleeve of her gown.

It takes a moment for her to register what he's actually doing, but this is the first person who's acknowledged the weird, creepy marks on her body all day, so she lets it go until he's ready to fill her in on _what exactly is happening_ because he seems to have some idea already.

Emerald eyes meet hers after a few moments of silence. "Are you in pain?"

"What? Why would I be?"

"It's just..." He trails off when he notices how close they are, and releases her gown immediately.

The pain in her back flares up again. She screams when fire starts searing into her shoulder bones and edges it's way downwards, tearing through her skin viciously, ferociously, and she swears she feels a trail of blood tricking down her back. Distantly, she hears the sound of doors being slammed open and frantic voices around her, then she's being pulled off her bed and carried off to who knows where, she doesn't know.

There's a brief flash of blue, and green, and red, then everything turns black.

* * *

"The painkillers are in here," the nurse from earlier presses a bottle of pills into his open hand, "and the bandages and ointments are here, should you need to reapply them. Of course, you'll have to, to avoid an infection," she grabs a bag for him to place all the items in. Wally feels a little overwhelmed, "If anything unusual happens that we haven't told you about already, give us a ring or run right in." Her brown eyes soften, "Your girlfriend will be fine."

He doesn't have the heart to correct her (sadly, it gives him a sense of happiness) and thanks her before walking away to where Artemis is sitting next to Aunt Iris. There hasn't been another flare since the engravings acted up three days ago, thankfully. The bandages are hidden beneath the thick jacket and the loose pants Iris brought over from Artemis' apartment, but her face is still gaunt and pale, even though the doctors have already replenished the blood she's lost.

"Ready to go?" Wally reaches them within seconds. Iris helps Artemis stand up, and they walk outside to Wally's (typically dirty, but now clean) car that's parked just outside the entrance.

"Thanks for doing this for me," Artemis says lifelessly. They pretend not to notice how deadened she appears, a huge contrast against the sparkly-eyed Curator from a few days ago. His aunt throws him a 'take good care of her' look before they both ease into the back seat. Wally takes the wheel, and punches in the address that Artemis drawls out slowly.

Twenty minutes later, it's almost sunset. They crawl out, help Artemis into the elevator, and back out, and after a few minutes of fumbling around, finally open the door to her dusty abode.

Wally silently starts to air out the place, which doesn't take him long because he's Kid _Flash_ , and starts to set up microscopic, League-issued security cameras all around the studio as Iris takes Artemis into the bathroom - he'll fix up _that_ room layer. Per Batman's orders, Wally fixes the alarm systems, replaces the locks on her doors and windows, then speeds down to tack on more microscopic cameras to the lobby area. He races over to the local Chinese restaurant, and orders take out for them. It takes him less than ten minutes, nine of which were spent in the elevator going down, and waiting for the food.

He walks back into the elevator, calmly, and calls Dick. "It's hooked up, you online?" He hears a cup of coffee being slurped down.

"Yeah, everything's perfect, save for the bathroom. You gonna do that later?"

He hums in agreement. "Do we still need so many people for this mission? Our objective's already changed considerably, and I doubt the Shadows even know about her...situation."

Wally hears Dick chuckling, then remembers to place a camera in the corner of the elevator. "Far from it. I've been looking around," translate: stalking, "The Shadows are moving in, more so than before, and they're increasing their numbers around the Museum. They want that necklace, desperately. We need to keep Artemis safe for now, until we figure out what to do."

The metal doors slide open when he reaches the fourth floor. "Well, do that soon. She can't stay in here forever. Central City's crazy about its Museums."

"Whatever, Lover Boy. Give us an update soon." His comm fizzles out as soon as he reaches the door to Artemis' apartment, which is opened by none other than Artemis herself.

She's changed into a loose singlet, and a pair of flannel pants, and greets him with a half-hearted scowl. "I promised Iris I'd be cooperative, letting a stranger into my house." Ouch, he thinks. And, when did his aunt leave? "But," her expression shifts, "I guess I owe you my thanks, for being there for me."

Artemis leans against the doorframe lightly. "Come on in." He ambles in after her, locking the door behind him and lowering the take out onto her small coffee table. She pulls on a blue jumper and takes a while to sit down on her couch. "So, ground rules."

She pats the seat beside her on the couch, gesturing for him to take a seat – which he does, gladly, but not _too_ gladly, because he's not _that_ eager – and extracts a pen and piece of paper from underneath the table. "Cool." His leg bobs up and down impatiently, which she slaps to make him stop. He starts whistling instead when she jots down a few notes.

"One, sex occurs outside of a twenty-mile radius of my apartment." Wally's whistling is quickly replaced by sputtering noises. She tilts her head up slightly, "That includes any other…activities. Oh, come on. Sex isn't a taboo anymore. Calm down."

"Yeah, but- I would've thought that was a given."

She shrugs. "You'd be surprised. I don't room with a lot of people for a reason."

He doesn't meet her gaze, and thankfully she moves on. "Why the excessive food?"

Wally takes a moment to look up from his container, then realises that he'd subconsciously ordered his usual amount of food without thinking about the normal folk. He shrugs, "I'm starved. This bod doesn't look good all on its own, you know."

Artemis meets his flirty gaze with another eye-roll. "Mazel Tov."

His smile widens. "I try."

"Alright, well," she coughs, "The rest are pretty straightforward. We clean our own messes, split the rent until you're gone, and I don't know," she eyes the empty boxes of take-out sitting on the table. "Alright, if you buy dinner, I'll do most of the rent."

Wally nods. "That's fair."

They keep eating in silence - well, almost. Wally's infamous for not eating silently, but she doesn't seem to mind. The take-out takes less than twenty minutes to clear out, during which Artemis leaves to make a phone call to her boss before coming back to finish off the meal.

"Do you need a tour?"

"Sure," he shrugs amenably, even though he's already introduced himself à la security protocol. There isn't much to see. She has a small kitchenette next to the living room, a simple, dilapidated bed is raised up on a platform, and a single door separates the bathroom from everything else. Everything's unsurprisingly bare and utilitarian, in comparison to his own room's constant state of tornado-like disaster.

"Well, that's that. If you need the bathroom, just walk in - I'll trust that you won't violate me. And, there's a laundromat downstairs." He helps her pick up the last of the containers for the recycling bin. "How long will you be here?" She finishes bluntly.

He feels a little confronted by that, but brushes it off. "Until you've healed."

"That could take ages."

He shrugs. "I'd rather not have my aunt kill me for leaving you alone."

Artemis opens her mouth to protest, but seems to remember something that clamps it shut again. "Well, there're some blankets in the top shelf of my wardrobe. I'll lend you some of my pillows, and uh- you'll have to sleep on the couch. Sorry."

"No problem," Wally smiles briefly. He's had worse to sleep on, and Artemis' couch feels like a cloud compared to the stone floors of his earlier mission hideouts. "How's your back?"

"Hurting like a bitch," she winces, "I'm heading to bed before I start screaming my head off again. Night."

He can't say he's not affronted by how straightforward Artemis is, but he has managed to have a full-fledged conversation with Batman before, so there's no particular feelings of hurt edging its way up his mind. Wally isn't the sensitive little boy he used to be, and he isn't the guy who fakes his confidence to hide his insecurities anymore, so he can safely say that Artemis Crock's blunt and direct manner of speaking doesn't really affect him as much as it did ten years ago.

And, the fact that she's covered from head to toe in bandages does give her some leeway for being super grouchy. Wally's jaw slackens when he realises he's being a complete ass for thinking her mannerisms revolve around his feelings. _Be a gentleman, Wally._

Wally wordlessly leaves the pile of boxes in the kitchen area, then pulls out a bunch of blankets from Artemis' closet. He throws them on the couch, then changes his clothes in the bathroom, folding up the dirty ones for the laundromat tomorrow and sticking the final camera onto the corner of the room.

Crawling into the blankets, he scrolls his way through his phone, coming across a few text messages from M'gann and Superboy, and about thirty from Dick and Zatanna, each. There's one that makes his heart stop for a bit, from Linda, asking to meet up for some coffee.

He shakes his head, and laughs a bitter laugh. Delete, out of sight, out of mind.

* * *

Artemis is cruelly awakened, hours later, by an agonising, terrifying crushing noise coming from her back. She screeches, feeling her bones crunching together and constrict, then start to jut out of her shoulder blades as they pierce through her skin. She bends over backwards, then heaves forward and holds on to the blankets, the bed posts, scratches her way to her back, which gets heavier and heavier by the minute.

Someone's shouting her name loudly; she wishes she didn't live alone. The voices are back, muttering to her in a language she can't understand, couldn't for the life of her even if she tried. They're ear-piercing, shrill, and relentless. The louder they get, the worse the pain in her back becomes.

There's a crashing noise somewhere. More bones start digging into her skin, digging who knows where, until finally, it stops. The pain stops, and she sobs in relief. The voices fade into whispers, then nothingness.

"It's okay, it's okay," a tentative hand rests on her shaking shoulders as she weeps from the pain. There's something strange. She feels it, thrumming through her body, down her spine, down to the ends of her toes.

Artemis looks up, and sees bright green eyes staring at something behind her. "Wally? What's wrong?" She manages to croak out.

"You-"

She peers behind her, trying to see what's terrifying him so much. The sight that greets her makes her freeze.

They're _bloody_.

There are _bloody_ wings sticking out of her back, stretching to the other side of her flat and brushing up against the paintings she hung there a year ago. They leave a large red streak across the canvas, but that's the least of her worries. The feathers, whatever they are, how did feathers even happen, are dripping in blood, and stuck to the bones of the wings.

She wants to vomit. "Are those-me?" Artemis watches Wally tilt his head down to look at her, slowly.

He looks pale, his bright features are even more vivid than usual. "No, no. There has to be some logical explanation for this. I'm sure this is just a dream," he continues to ramble as his legs shakily make their way towards the outstretched wings. Wally's hand is shaking. She watches him touch the wings, trembling when she feels his hand moving down the length of the big bone.

Oh god, they're real. It's not a dream. Fucking shit-bags. She has wings.

 _Fuck._

* * *

 ** _Fret not! The wings hath arrived!_**

 ** _KitsuneGirl1994_** ** _, happyguest, and nerd, thanks for reviewing!_**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Strangers in the Night_**

 ** _Beta: knottedblonde_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I own nothing!_**

 ** _AN: Thank you so much, to happyguest, KitsuneGirl1994, Artemis Raven Courtney, nerd (guest), and Fritchman65 for your lovely reviews! Also, followers and favouriters, and new readers, you guys are awesome._**

* * *

The Universe hasn't been kind to Artemis lately. It's laughing at her, dangling the job she's always on a wanted on a thin string before ripping it away with Icicle Jr's attack, and then some more with a bloody pair of _wings_. She feels a headache forming, and tries to ignore the weird sensations that are tingling down her new limbs.

It doesn't work.

"Fuck," Artemis swears under her breath, "Fucking. What the fuck is happening to my life? Why me?"

"You have wings." Wally stumbles backwards and falls onto the ground in an unceremonious heap. "Oh, Einstein. You have wings." Artemis wants to choke him for being so loud.

"Shut up," she throws a string of swear words at him, and then the nearby pillows, "Just shut the fuck up!" She doesn't want these monstrosities. She has a job, her dream job, to do, and she still needs to heal from being thrown through the glass like a rag doll. She can't even step outside of her studio with these.

Cam is so dead when she gets her hands on him again.

Wally runs into the bathroom; she hears him hurl up a junkyard in there. Gross.

Artemis growls, and looks back at her wings. They flutter when she tenses her back - it's disgusting. Her upper lip curls on its own accord when the tangy scent of iron mixed with perspiration makes its way into her nose. Great, not only is she a mutated bird, she's disgusting and reeks of her own, literal, blood, sweat and tears. She hears more retching in the bathroom, and honestly doesn't blame Wally for his actions.

Hell, she doesn't even know _who_ to blame.

When Wally emerges from the bathroom, it's with a tub of water and a towel and a grim line set in his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning," his earlier trepidation seems to have faded, because his now Wally's face is carefully blank as he soaks the towel in the tub of water.

"Forget it," she says, resolutely, "Cut them off for me."

"What? No!" He reels back in shock when she fixates a vicious glare at him.

" _Do_ it."

" _No_ ," he bellows back. A snarl forms at his lips, "I'm not a sadist, Artemis."

"Quit being a coward, grab the knife in my kitchen, and saw the- the _things_ off my back!" She starts to scream at him helplessly, begging him to end her misery right then and there so she can move on with her life sans-wings.

He moves over to the kitchenette, promptly locks the knives away into a cabinet, then walks back to the tub without returning her furious glare. Wally grabs the towel, wets it again, then gently runs it over the bones and feathers until, after a while, they're clean. He continues to move down the length of the bone diligently, growling whenever she tries to struggle out of his grasp.

Finally relenting, Artemis turns her head around marginally to watch him work, then notices the blotchy red stains slowly edging their way across the beige carpet. That'll wrack up a new carpeting bill for sure, and she doesn't know who would be courteous enough to not question those dark, red circles.

It takes an hour, maybe more - she doesn't really know or care - before Wally stops preening at her wings. Admittedly, she feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted off her back. And, realistically speaking, that is true. Now that the blood is no longer weighing down her feathers, her wing-bones are starting to perk up from the lessened gravitational pressure. She tells him that, quietly, hesitantly, and he gives her a smile before turning on the heating system.

"They're still wet, you should let them air out for now. Maybe sleep on your side, too. I'll call up a friend to get your carpet fixed tomorrow."

She sees him walk past her tiredly, and, because she's possibly the world's worst, most insensitive conversationalist, Artemis asks, "What if I decide to snip them off halfway through the night?" Wally finally glares at her. It's not a look she likes on him.

"Do it, I dare you."

Her eyes spot the white, waterlogged feathers when she glances back. The tips are drying off and a hint of fluffiness starts to form there. She feels her earlier resolve crumbling away.

"Thank you." He actually looks taken aback by it, having clearly expected a nasty sneer in response. "Can I at least have some painkillers for them?" Nodding dumbly, Wally walks off to the bathroom, where Iris placed the painkillers earlier that day.

Some of the feathers are starting to flutter gently, and she reluctantly enjoys the warmth that spreads through her wings as the heating speeds up the drying process. On the other hand, her back muscles are screeching from the pain of supporting a new weight; she's pretty sure her bed is going to be her best companion for a while.

Artemis starts to think that she's a masochist, because she ignores the blinding pain that shoots through her spine with every muscular shift and decides to blindly stroke the feathers on her wings. Regardless of her desire to not have these monstrosities, she can't deny that they fascinate her.

The closest feathers are large, and strangely firm. They're tightly packed together and layered over each other in streamlined patterns. If she had her old physics buddies from Stanford over, they'd have a field day picking at her new limbs and raving about the aerodynamics of every single extremity. Whoever came up with this voodoo magic that made her grow wings overnight, they were clearly conscious of getting their physics _right_.

By the time Wally returns, he's in a new pair of clothes, clutching an antibacterial spray in one hand and her painkillers in the other. His eyes immediately widen when he looks at the sight behind her.

"Jesus."

"Not really, but you're close," she replies, wryly. He settles himself on her bed, then doesn't stop gaping at her white feathers. She leans back a bit; the action startles Wally out of his daze. He blinks, seems to realise how close together they are, then gets off the bed and hands her the medicine and a water bottle.

The spraying starts immediately; he switches off the heat and opens the window to air out her apartment. Wally's voice starts to crack.

"I called up a friend of mine to replace the carpet tomorrow. She's uh, _agreed_ , to not talk about your circumstances to anyone."

Artemis nods. "Who?"

He looks positively alarmed at the question, coughs, and avoids it. "She's nice, so I'm pretty sure she won't spill the beans on this whole wing fiasco." Wally gestures wildly when he talks, Artemis observes. His hands fly around from his waist to his chest, his face, and then they move back to the front of his torso, in the span of a second. But it doesn't look like flailing; more like he's had practice moving incredibly quickly. He stops, all of a sudden, and blinks back at her sheepishly. Artemis pulls herself out of her trance.

"Uh-what?"

He gives her a knowing look and repeats his words. "Would you be okay with letting her work for a few hours?"

She shrugs, immediately regretting the action, and winces. Wally shifts in his standing position, looking distinctly concerned. "That's fine," Artemis manages to rasp out a few words, "More than perfect." Even though Artemis despises strangers, and tends to limit her socialising to a few choice individuals, she knows she's not in a position to reject Wally's generosity - or, those of his understanding friends.

Both of her eyebrows rise up to the edge of her hairline when she realises exactly what kinds of connections Wally has, that they would be willing to look in the other direction when they see a mass of blood on the carpet.

He notices the cautious surprise on her face, then raises an eyebrow in response. She peers down at his fire-truck red t-shirt and his baby-blue sweats before shaking her head in disbelief. There's no way that the Wests are a mafia family; they're too wholesome and _cuddly_.

This is Kansas, Artemis, not Gotham. People actually like you here.

"Uh," Wally sprays the carpet once more, then closes the lid. "Something wrong?"

"No." Artemis says, all too quickly, "Nothing."

Wally gives her a final, questioning glance, reaches for the nearby bandage supply and kneels before her, "We need to reapply your bandages. Stay still for a bit?"

She nods just as he moves to pull out a bunch of towels and spread them all over the bed and, at his request, tries her best to stretch out her arms for him to peel off the older, torn layers and apply a fresh coating of ointment to her wounds.

Her life is on the brink of turning into a crappy medical drama, but the only things keeping it on its threshold are the wings currently attached to her back, which add a significant amount of terrifying fantasy instead. She doesn't know if she should be happy about that or not, because Artemis _hates_ medical dramas with a passion. In her opinion, if doctors have enough time to busy themselves with personal drama, then they have enough time to do their job properly.

Paula's words from ten years prior echo in her mind. _You would be a terrible doctor._

Artemis wholeheartedly agrees; she's not the type to worry over other people's concerns too much, unless they're special to her, and neither is she the kind of person who can stomach surgical procedures without blinking an eye. Simple bruises and cuts, she can handle – Sportsmaster's daughters aren't exactly spineless, to say the least – but broken bones and gruesome injuries are another story.

Ironic, because she's sure her back isn't a pretty sight, given the amount of ripping and tearing she felt her bones do an hour ago.

Wally's methodical bandage-placing loses its rhythmic flow when he presses too hard on a particular wound in her back. She hisses, he apologises hastily, and they rinse and repeat. The painkillers are starting to kick in, to which her freshly-bandaged elbows respond by drooping dangerously close to the pile of bloodied bandages that Wally had carefully removed minutes beforehand.

"Stay with me, Artemis, we're almost finished." She knows he's just saying that to make her feel better, because they still have her torso and her legs to go, and even his eyes are starting to flutter from the fatigue.

Artemis refrains from releasing that comment, partly because of her slackening jaw, and partly because of the guilt gnawing at her conscience. Iris' family is making sacrifices for her yet again, and now she's more indebted to the Wests than ever before.

She dips her head down to look at Wally, who has a look of intense focus on his face as he diligently, rapidly, repeats the process of clean, disinfect, re-bandage on her body. "You're pretty good at this medical stuff, hey."

He pauses at her left calf, cloth inches away from being wrapped around her leg. Slightly flushed, Wally meets her gaze and grins. "I've had my fair share of injuries. Let's just say I'm an expert at bandage care."

"Clumsy kid?"

He chuckles, then continues fixing up the last of her skin. "No, more like danger magnet."

She laughs, and gives him a lopsided grin. "Whatever you say, stud." Wally smiles, then stands up and stretches his arms out.

"Well, that's that." He brushes invisible dust off his pants and yawns. Artemis feels another pang of crushing guilt strike across her heart when she notices the deathly-white pallor of Wally's skin against the prominent dark circles under his eyes.

"I'll be on the couch," he makes sure all the towels and bandages are removed from her bed before tossing them into a spare plastic bag. There's a new cup of water on her bedside table moments later; Wally throws another blanket on top of her and waits for her to snuggle into the covers. "Night."

Pushing her conscience to the back of her mind, Artemis is out five breaths after her cheek hits the pillow, so she doesn't feel or see the markings racing out of her back and onto her pillow, fluorescent against her navy sheets. They pool into a dark circle, dipping the pillow's material downwards and forming a pendant the size of a coin.

But Wally notices, and he nearly faints.

* * *

Artemis glows at sunrise.

There is no way that Wally's just being a massive creep, because her skin is positively sparkling wherever the Sun's rays caress it. His tired eyes are rubbed, once, twice, before he groans and turns his back to the sleeping curator.

Wally hasn't slept a wink in a solid thirty hours, a feat uncommon to him unless there's a room full of Chicken Whizees at his disposal, or a tankard of coffee. The thought of food makes his stomach grumble unhappily, but he holds it down for the sake of sleep. Sleep first, feast later.

But it doesn't come, because when Wally's tired, his brain slows down just enough to let him think through one thought at a time instead of ten. The day's events thus hit him like a tonne of bricks.

 _Artemis has wings_.

Science can't explain anything about the extra, feathery limbs protruding from her shoulder bones. He's not even sure if denying _it_ is worth it anymore, but Zatanna's sure to rub it in his face when she sees Artemis again, whether it's for the mission or her upcoming wedding.

She could rub a bucket of poop in his face for all he cares, because life is already giving him everything it's got.

Wally's normally quick on the uptake, quick to adapt, and even quicker to run forth. But even objects at the fastest velocities, at some point, are going to be met with friction. Artemis Crock, with her PhD and her high-ranking job and her injuries and her _wings_ , is his friction. The Universe was just giving him a break for ten years before it decided to make him face his problems head on again.

In some ways, Wally wishes he could move on from the crush that's plaguing him all over again. He knows that it's silly to continue yearning for someone who's too good for him, always has been, and someone who puts her job and her career before love. Artemis represents everything that Wally does not: concentration, disciplinary work ethics, and a vaulting ambition that she uses to its full potential.

Wally West, after years of mucking around in high school and college and passing school by raw, natural talent, is only just starting to finish off his degree, and has only just been given an internship at STAR Labs. And that, coupled with the fact that he's still running around Central and Keystone City at night, and essentially beating up a bunch of villains for breaking the law, does not help his chances in any way.

Not that he _should_ be focusing on his love life, when Batman's glaring at him to focus on the mission, and "the fate of the world is at stake" if they don't succeed. Wally honestly doesn't see how a necklace that gives someone superpowers could possibly put the world at stake, because Green Lantern has a ring that does the same thing, and so does Karen.

Wally closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, coughs several times when he inhales a load of dust, then calms down and throws the blanket over his eyes.

Breathe, Wally. One, two-

"It looks like someone died in here."

 _Einstein._

A strong hand yanks his blanket away from his face. "Rise and shine, Wall-man, you have a big day ahead of you."

He doesn't even deign to reply, as Dick's already making his way around the room and scanning it with his nerdy watch, and Zatanna's making her way to Artemis with a furrow in her brows.

"Must you come over right now?"

They pause, look at him with their pairs of bright, blue eyes, and smirk. "Were we interrupting anything?"

Wally shrugs. They have a point – but, sleep.

"In any case," Dick continues, typing into his watch rapidly, "They're on their way over."

"Who?" He rubs a hand over his face, not wanting to deal with any of Nightwing's antics on less than two minutes of rest. His friend's face is a mix of grim determination and smug satisfaction.

"The League, of course."


	6. Chapter 6

**Strangers in the Night**

 **Beta: knottedblonde (bless you)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

There's a knock at the front door by the time Artemis' eyes snap open. It's sunny and bright, even with the thick drapes hanging over her windows. The light is a welcome presence for her, but the repulsive scent of blood mixed with antiseptic makes her nose scrunch up in discomfort. Her studio reeks of hospital, only less sanitary.

Artemis quickly realises that there is no way she's going to let anyone into this warzone, much less see the wings hanging off her back, carpenters on not, but then Wally's already shouting, "I'll get it!", so she decides to scramble for the bathroom instead.

Easier said than done. She forgets that she can't move as swiftly as she used to. Artemis falls to the ground in a heap just as the door opens and reveals four masked figures standing in front of her in utter disbelief. She can't see them now, of course, hair having tumbled all over her line of sight on her way down, but she's seen enough to know exactly _who_ and _what_ is standing on the threshold of her home: the Justice League.

The freaking Justice League is filing into her house, one by one, thanking Wally for allowing them inside like they know him. She realises with a jolt that _these_ are the connections that he has. Not mafia, not gangsters, nor are they hitmen. They're superheroes. Wally West is on a nickname-basis with Earth's most prominent superheroes.

The Flash, she's used to – Batman, no way.

All the alarm bells are going off in her head, urging her to duck and hide, or conceal the suitcase carrying Venom in the crack beneath the floorboards while Daddy goes to answer the door. Artemis blinks. She remembers that Sportsmaster is long gone, probably off committing some heinous crime on the other side of the globe. She's safe; the League isn't a trigger warning for her anymore. Breathe, Artemis. _Breathe_.

Pulling her tresses away from her eyes, Artemis spots Wally walking back and forth from her fridge, accommodating the heroes with cups of the cheap orange juice she'd recently purchased for half price. They don't seem to register the obviously poor quality of the juice, nor do their noses wrinkle at the pungent scent emanating from her carpet.

All four of them: Batman, Nightwing, Hawkwoman, and the Flash, are staring at her inquisitively. She feels naked under their gazes, like they're all trying to peel off the layers of her skin, like they're trying to uncover all of her deepest, darkest secrets. Sadly, Artemis has those in surplus, most of which are highly relevant to the League – not that they know that, she hopes.

The Flash coughs pointedly, and all of a sudden Wally's gently prying her off the ground, making sure to avoid exacerbating any wounds on her arms, then helps settle her back onto her bed, this time sitting upright and facing them all.

Interestingly, Wally has a knack for alleviating awkward situations with witty repertoire and light-hearted jabs (which, honestly, freaks her out, because Batman doesn't seem to be the type who enjoys joking around), because soon Nightwing's starting to join in with Wally's conversation with the Flash.

"So," he addresses her, in an oddly familiar voice, "A little bird went nuts when he called me about your situation last night, I hope you don't mind that I've called some back-up; this isn't something that a simple renovation will fix, unfortunately." He gestures towards her wings with a gloved hand.

She gets his point, accepts the glass of juice and painkiller tablets that Wally shoves under her nose, downs them, and coughs a little. "I'll manage."

Batman's slitted eyes angle towards her. She gets the feeling that he recognises her from the few run-ins they'd had while she trained with Sportsmaster, but thankfully he doesn't comment on it. Artemis prays he doesn't remember her, because she left Gotham City to start over, and there's no telling what will happen if he opens _that_ can of worms.

"Artemis Crock," he says, with an air of finality.

"Yes."

Hawkwoman interjects herself into the conversation. "Your wings are impressive."

"Thanks." Artemis notes the credibility of that statement.

It's not the first time Artemis has heard of Hawkwoman, but it's the first time she's seeing the woman up close and in real time. She's deeply impressed. There's a severe mask on her face, hawk-like and shimmering gold wherever the sunlight hits it. Overall, Artemis gets the feeling that Hawkwoman isn't someone she wants to mess with, seeing how there are muscles bulging out from underneath her battle-gear, and the metallic wings protruding from her shoulder blades look so sharp they can (probably) cut into diamond. Distantly, she wonders why Batman's summoning Hawkwoman - of all people - to show up in _Kansas_ when there's so many other exciting places she can be, like Michigan, or Prague.

"Uh-"

"Safe to say you won't be at the Museum for a while, then?" The Flash interrupts her thoughts, ignoring Hawkwoman's irritated elbow-jap at his side. "Sorry. You could always pass your wings off as an elaborate costume. Early Halloween? It's still a month away." Batman shoots him a look. "Shutting up now."

She can't help but grin at the familiarity of his countenance. Everything around her is shifting and collapsing, but at least she knows that Central City's favourite hero moves at a constant speed. Flirty and flighty he may be, but Artemis finds herself unexpectedly reassured by his presence.

Deciding to angle for diplomacy, Artemis clears her throat and ignores the ache in her back. "So," her voice sounds unexpectedly hoarse when all four superheroes and Wally refocus their attention to her, "I think it's best that we address the elephant in the room. What brings four high-profile members of the Justice League to cosy Kansas?" And how? Artemis hadn't known that so many big-gun heroes could be so receptive to a civilian scientist. Clearly, Wally has much more influence than she's aware.

Batman, forgoing all formalities, wastes no time being as transparent and simultaneously vague as possible. "The League is interested in the necklace that your team excavated in Greece months ago, Miss Crock. We have reason to believe that it possesses magical properties - _dangerous_ properties, should it be placed in the wrong hands - and as it stands, we know almost nothing else about it, save for what's right in front of us." He lets the implication of his words sink in.

"We're here to offer you a deal, or a partnership." Batman's tone softens slightly, yet still retaining the hard edge that she's come to associate with Gotham's Dark Night. "You've spent years of your life writing a dissertation on the influence of power on Greco-Roman art and scouring the globe for the very same information that the League is now looking for. Should you choose to help us, we can offer you rehabilitation, and protection."

She fidgets on her bed slightly, somewhat disconcerted by the onslaught of information. Judging by the nonplussed expressions of everyone else in the room, Batman's extensive periods of silence, peppered with outbursts of cold, hard facts, seem to be a 'thing'. She isn't sure if she finds that funny or not.

"Look," Artemis says after a brief pause, "I'm going to pretend that I'm not creeped out by how much you know about me." She really _isn't_ , though. Anyone who knows anything in Gotham City knows that the Batman and his gang of Bat-children are the world's pantheon of detectives. "And I _can_ help you, free of any charge. There's no reason why you should go out of your way to protect me when I'm hardly a target."

Because by now, Artemis knows well enough to steer clear of any unnecessary affiliations with the Justice League, lest any questionable family members manage to track her down and make her life a living Hell. Still, she's relieved to know that Batman is here for the knowledge that she's been researching for close to a decade, and not to arrest and accost her for her underground connections.

And then she sees the slight wince from the more expressive faction of her audience - namely the Flash - and looks at them curiously. "Unless, there's something else you need to tell me."

It becomes startlingly clear that Batman is the go-to man for the deliverance of bad news, because he immediately resumes his speech. "The Justice League isn't the only party that wants you, Miss Crock." He presses a button on his suit's wrist and shows her a holographic screen of the three specific words she'd been hoping to avoid for longer. "I assume you're familiar with the League of Shadows?"

There's a trickle of dread flowing down from the nape of her neck to the bottom of her spine, a feeling Artemis hasn't had creep up on her for years. "Yes," she replies, feeling her throat clamp up, "I am."

He's the only one who looks at her knowingly, and she suspects that her family isn't as underground as she would prefer anymore. Everyone else in the room seems to look scandalised, or shocked, or both. "So," Batman says with an air of finality, though the slits in his mask seem to vaguely express something more sympathetic. "Do we have a deal?"

* * *

Wally watches Batman's black cloak disappear behind Artemis' door with a sombre feeling in the pit of his stomach. Which is saying something, given that his stomach is widely considered to be bottomless.

Artemis is still upright on her bed as he turns around and realises one thing: he has no idea how to explain this entire situation to her. His connection to the League, the fact that as a civillian (to her), he really shouldn't be as aware of their operations as he should've been. But then again, the fact that Artemis had barely blinked an eyelash when Batman brought up the League of Shadows, or that Batman hadn't even needed to elaborate on their operations to her, was the one thing that hadn't stopped bugging him since she made a deal to join the League.

Join, in the unofficial, ward-of-the-Justice-League, sense. Not as a superhero.

Unless she wanted to be one.

He stares at the gigantic brown spot covering the majority of Artemis' carpet, yet to be cleansed or removed. It'll be problematic if someone unwittingly visits Artemis' studio and sees the portal to Hell emblazoned onto the floors. The cops might get involved, and thereby the media - he really doesn't want Aunt Iris to find out about Artemis' wings via the Police, and before he has a chance to explain the situation to her. Wally's hand runs down the length of his face.

And what _was_ the League of Shadows' deal with Artemis anyway?

They'd all been debriefed about their task before they left for Central City: the Museum was holding an exhibition unveiling an artefact that the Flash had recovered, and their job was to protect it from harm. The curator was the second priority when they started, but now Wally's beginning to realise that Batman and Nightwing are being annoyingly unclear about their motives again - obviously Artemis Crock is a lot more than she lets on, and so far only they're the ones who really seem to know _her_. Her and her affiliation with the Shadows, the world's deadliest group of assassins.

He watches the wings protruding from her back move to the rhythm of her chest, fluttering lightly when she fidgets. It's then that he also realises that Artemis is fixing him a stare more scrutinising than Batman's trademark.

She opens her mouth and slams it shut a second later, as though she's deciding against something. Wally dearly hopes, on Einstein's grave, that she'll let go of whatever thought is clearly making her more upset by the second. He has literally been awake for twenty-eight hours _without_ a sizeable amount of food in the past six, and so genuinely cannot handle an argument at this point in time.

"You-" she pauses and takes a deep breath as he tenses, "Who are you?"

"I'm Wally," he replies slowly. "Wally West? Do you have a concussion?" Wally reaches for her head. Artemis slaps his hand away.

"I mean, you're one of the hundreds of scientists who work at STAR Labs. How do you even _know_ the Justice League?"

"The same way you do," he shoots back, mentally slapping himself, "I'm a big fan."

Artemis breathes out through her nostrils. "Big fans normally _aren't_ on a nickname-basis with Batman," her eyes narrow at him, "Are you a spy?"

"I'm not a spy."

"Then how about you tell me how you happen to be able to call Earth's Mightiest Heroes over to Kansas - overnight?" He knows what her predicament is, what it looks like. In all honesty he wouldn't trust someone from highschool (who isn't Dick Grayson) who invites some of the biggest superheroes in the world to respond a small distress signal, either. Artemis' expression becomes stonier the longer he stays silent. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey - you're not exactly Little Miss Transparent either!" His foot flies into his mouth before he can catch it, and Artemis is already starting to glare at him, so Wally decides to Hell with it and runs ahead. "You didn't even _blink_ when the Shadows came up! How do _you_ know about them?"

"What I know is _none_ of your business."

His jaw clenches at the hypocrisy. "Well, you don't see me launching the Spanish Inquisition against you - why should I tell you about the League?"

"Because you're living in my apartment, genius," she's standing up on her bed and glowering down at him like she really, really wants to punch him. "Which, by the way, I never wanted!" He blinks exactly once from the gust of wind that rushes through the studio and feels his expression harden into a glare.

"Fine," his voice doesn't come out as shaky as he feels internally, which he's thankful for. "But I was never here for you - I'm here for Iris."

Despite the bluntless of his words, the name seems to trigger a calming response in Artemis. Her eyes begin to look considerably less crazed, she exhales deeply, and her wings start to fold in. She's silent for a good few minutes, during which time Wally's anger ebbs away in small waves - enough to dissipate the uncomfortable feeling scratching its way up his chest but not enough to stop his face from burning. "Fine."

"Get some sleep," he walks over to the window that isn't next to her bed and throws it open. Its frame slams against the wall noisily, which neither of them bother commenting on. "I'm grabbing more bandages."

And going out for air. Wally shrugs on a coat and closes the door behind him - carefully, this time - before activating the alarm system he knows Nightwing installed just before the League were officially introduced into Artemis' studio. He isn't angry at her, per se. Just incredibly frustrated. He doesn't recall her being as confrontational in high school, and quickly amends that thought when he distinctly remembers her never talking to him for a decade.

And in any case, he'll be seeing her more frequently than she'd like for a while now - as Kid Flash, and not Wally West. The image of her connecting the dots and realising that she's been living with Kid Flash does not bode well in his stomach, which is obnoxiously grumbling by now. Wally passes a hotdog vendor and retracts his footsteps.

At the very least, before he stresses out over Artemis for another few weeks, he'll eat his weight in sausage.

* * *

 **Special shout-out to: Fritchman65, Artemis Raven Courtney, KitsuneGirl1994, Scarlet Lupin, YJFOREVER, Snow On The Wall, icanhearyouglaring, Eli-the-crockodile, kaylasamanthaalvarez, sunanak, Marie Truesight, Guest and fanofthisfiction, and all the lovely followers and favourites. Truly, you're all fantastic.**


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